In Her Eyes
by brittanasclexa
Summary: Santana has been bullied all her life. She doesn't think Brittany is any different from the rest until she finds out that there's more to her than she initially thought. Can they find strength in each other? GP!Brittany.
1. Chapter 1

I could hear thumping. It was rhythmic, almost hypnotic. My head throbbed at the sound. I wanted it to stop. Why wouldn't it just stop? With a startled jerk, I realized that it was my own pounding heartbeat. I blinked rapidly and as the world around me slowly regained its focus, I became aware of another noise. Murmurs and shuffling but mostly, laughter. It cut through me like a knife. I wanted to do something. I wanted to shout at them, tell them to leave me alone, but my words caught in my throat.

My legs felt wobbly as I stood up. Mocking words were thrown at me but I ignored them. Like I always did. I somehow managed to make it into the bathroom. I curled my fingers around the edge of the sink, almost as if I needed to in order to keep myself upright. I felt weak, tired, but more mentally than physically. It was visible on my face, the crease between my brows, the dark circles underneath my eyes. A shuddering breath left my mouth. I didn't understand. Why did everyone hate me so much? It was always the same. No timetables or planners were needed to remind me of what was going to happen every day. The pushing, the shoving.

I just didn't understand.

After splashing some water onto my face, I somehow got my hands to stop shaking before I left the bathroom. My stomach churned when I realized that there were only a few minutes left before class would start. I wanted to arrive early so I could spare myself from what would happen when students flooded the hallways again. I straightened my shoulders but kept my head down as I began to make my way to the classroom. Let's hope it doesn't get any worse, I thought to myself.

I winced when a shoulder roughly collided with mine.

"Watch where you're going." A soft, feminine voice said. The lack of anger in it didn't register and I cringed, waiting for the inevitable. I didn't have the energy to fight anymore so that's all I did; waiting. But the pain never came. I clenched my jaw and slowly lifted my head. My eyes met bright blue ones and I don't know what it was exactly but something about them made me relax slightly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

The sound of her voice took me by surprise and I automatically took a step backwards. "Like what?"

"Like I'm going to hit you or something." The girl replied with a frown, her features scrunching up. I thought she looked adorable but then I mentally scolded myself for even thinking that. She was taller than me but only by a few inches. Long blonde hair fell down her shoulders. She was wearing jeans and a light blue sweater, and a pair of glasses was perched on the bridge of her nose. My eyes flickered up and it was then that I saw her smile. It captivated me, for some reason, and I couldn't help but stare. She was beautiful. It wasn't until I noticed that her lips were moving that I realized that she was talking. "Just be careful next time, okay?"

"Sorry." I muttered.

I vaguely recognized her. I had seen her wandering the hallways a few times but I had no idea what her name was. This was the first time that I had seen her by herself. Usually she was with some blonde guy who seemed to always stick by her side. I was curious about them but I always walked on by them as quickly as possible to avoid contact with them, or rather, mean comments. I figured that that was the best thing to do right now as well.

"Hey, wait up." She called after me.

I sighed and ignored her, tightening my grip on the straps of my backpack. "I said I was sorry." I replied, my voice sounding strained and tired. _Just ignore her. She'll go away eventually. _

My palms became sweaty and I picked up my pace, wanting to get away from her as fast as possible. I kept my head down as I walked passed the classrooms, not wanting to risk seeing my own reflection in the windows. I already knew what image would be staring back at me. Dull brown eyes filled with anguish, daring someone to read the hidden messages beneath them. But nobody ever did. Nobody ever cared.

I cried out as I stumbled over my own feet, spiralling to the floor. I heard the girl's voice again, apparently she was still following me.

"Are you okay?" She jogged over to me and knelt down besides me. I refused to look at her, too embarrassed. I couldn't believe this was happening. If she didn't hate me already, she probably did now. I was surprised when she offered me her hand. I looked at her for a second but then stubbornly shook my head. She dropped her hand again, looking defeated. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." I placed my hands on the floor to push myself up but a sharp pain shot up and down my wrist, making me wince. "Damn it."

The girl tilted her head, chewing on her bottom lip. "Are you sure you're okay?" She asked in a gentle tone that sent a shiver down my spine. She knelt down next to me, looking at me with those piercing blue eyes. I blushed furiously and ducked my head. "Let me see."

"I'm fine." I repeated, injecting some anger into my voice.

She seemed surprised for a moment but didn't back down. "Santana, that looks really painful."

My eyes snapped up to hers. "You know my name?"

She just hummed and carefully took a hold of my wrist. It was already starting to swell, much to my dismay. "I think it's sprained." She said, concern written all over her features. It made my stomach flip. She placed her hand on my shoulder and tried to urge me to my feet. "Come on, let me walk you to the nurse."

"No, it's fine." I protested, allowing her to help me up. I quickly looked away, not wanting her to see my crimson face. I had never felt this humiliated before and that said a lot. I don't know why this girl's opinion of me mattered to me but for some reason it did a great deal. "It doesn't hurt that bad."

"I'll just take you to the nurse and she'll give you some ice."

"I don't need ice." I mumbled, attempting to walk away.

She stopped me from doing so by stepping in front of me, cutting off my path. "Stop being so stubborn and just let me help you."

"I don't need help." I whispered bitterly, still not looking at her. She sighed in exasperation and reached out to take my good hand in her own but I backed away faster than lightning, harshly shrugging her off. She blinked in surprise. Her expression kind of reminded me of a kicked puppy and it momentarily made me feel bad. "Just- just leave me alone."

"Santana…" Her sentence was cut off by the sound of the bell ringing.

The scraping of chairs filled my ears and I jumped slightly at the sound. I noticed that she was distracted so I quickly pushed my way past her. "I have to go to class now." I said quietly. I didn't want to be pushed around again so I had to avoid the sea of students. "Bye."

I heard her call out my name but I ignored her. I just wanted to get out of here.


	2. Chapter 2

I squirmed in my seat as I chewed on the inside of my cheek, willing the throbbing pain in my wrist to go away. It had only been a few minutes since I had humiliated myself but the pain had gotten worse, and my stomach clenched uncomfortably as I suddenly felt sick.

I set my jaw in a tight line and carefully clenched my hand into a fist while I curled my good hand around the edge of my desk; my fingers trembling. Through squinted eyes I looked down and saw that my tan skin was now a pinkish color, a bruise beginning to form.

"Damn it." I cursed under my breath, pulling the sleeve of my hoodie down to avoid the bruise from being seen by anyone. I didn't want to give them that satisfaction. I inhaled shakily and tried my best to focus on anything other than the pain.

Whispers reached my ears and I reluctantly lifted my eyes off my desk to look up. The blonde girl from before walked in and my heart fluttered in my chest when I realized that we'd be sharing at least one class this year. My brow furrowed when I noticed how reluctant she looked, her eyes wide as they cautiously scanned the classroom. She suddenly looked small and curiosity erupted within me.

I didn't realize that I was staring until her eyes met mine and a deep blush instantly spread across my cheeks. I mentally scolded myself and quickly dropped my gaze to my desk again.

Don't look at her, I thought to myself, she'd never be interested in someone like you. She didn't help you because she likes you. She probably has ulterior motives.

I grinded my teeth together as my wrist gave another throb of pain. I just wanted to go home and sleep.

Trying to distract myself, I leaned over and began to rummage through my bag with my good hand. I bit down on my lip to swallow down the groan that threatened to escape my throat.

"Oops sorry!" A voice called out sarcastically just as a sneaker shot out and kicked my bag away, sending it across the floor and out of my reach. Laughter erupted around me and I blinked rapidly to fight against the angry tears that were burning in my eyes.

I gazed up and cringed when I saw that Josh Coleman was leaning over me, a familiar smirk on his face. He seemed to thrive on the attention he was getting from the rest of the students; their chuckles encouraging him even more. "You should really watch where you put your bag, can't be too careful these days."

"Sorry." I whispered, sliding out of my seat and shuffling to where my bag was lying, keeping my head lowered. I grabbed my bag and stuffed the contents that had fallen out of it back into it as quickly as I could. As I walked back to my seat, my eyes locked with bright blue ones and for a moment I couldn't breathe. I could see the remorse in them and I didn't know what to think.

"What a loser." A whisper cut through the air and I lowered my head again, the urge to run away and never look back stronger than ever.

I slid back into my chair and gasped when I placed my hand on my desk and put too much pressure on it, harshly reminded of the pain in my wrist. I knew that it was best to just go the nurse but I was too stubborn.

Suddenly the door creaked on its hinges and the chuckling died down.

"Good morning, class." Our history teacher said in a cheery tone that made me cringe as he walked inside. "Let's get down to business because we have a lot to discuss."

I hissed as I accidentally knocked my hand against my desk, my vision momentarily blurring with pain. The sound came out louder than I wanted and I cowered slightly as I felt everyone's gaze burn holes into my skull.

"Mrs. Lopez?" The teacher asked, adjusting his glasses as he shot me a questioning look. "Do you have something you want to share with us?"

"No sir." I replied, my voice sounding smaller than intended. I could hear the muttering between the two girls behind me, their mocking words making me want to disappear more than anything. "I'm fine."

The teacher narrowed his eyes skeptically. "You don't look too well, Mrs. Lopez." He pointed out, tilting his head as he studied my features carefully. I ducked my head, squirming under his stare. "Maybe you should go to the nurse."

"I'm fine." I said again, almost pleadingly, but he was already rummaging through his drawer in search of a pen. The whispering had started up again but I tried my best to ignore it.

"Here, take this and go see the nurse." The teacher said, holding out a hall pass in my direction, his firm tone leaving no room for arguments. "Tell her you've been excused and you need her to make sure you're okay."

"But I'm fine!" I protested, my voice louder this time.

"Just go, Mrs. Lopez." The teacher replied, somewhat impatiently, and I finally gave in with a loud sigh, the screaming pain in my wrist urging me on.

* * *

"Shit." I murmured as I stared down at the hall pass in my hand, my face scrunched up bitterly as I rested my back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. I was standing outside of Nurse Holliday's office, contemplating whether or not I should go in.

My eyes flickered down to my bruised wrist and I sighed heavily when I saw that the swelling had increased. I clenched my jaw and tried to breathe through the pain. I was almost starting to get used to it.

I let out another sigh and gazed at the floor, shuffling back and forth as I tried to think of what to do. I was just about to walk away when a voice stopped me.

"Can I help you?"

I jumped a little, startled, and whirled around, coming face to face with Holly Holliday, her blue eyes narrowed in confusion at the sight of me standing there sheepishly, her long, blonde hair tied back into a ponytail.

"I-I..." I stammered, feeling my cheeks heat up. "I'm fine. I was just about to leave."

Nurse Holliday's brow furrowed as she looked at me intently for a short moment. "You're obviously here for a reason. And if you're not, what are you doing out of class?"

I fumbled with the hall pass, almost dropping it as I suddenly felt nervous, though I couldn't quite figure out why, and handed it to her. I chewed on my bottom lip and averted my gaze to the floor again as Nurse Holliday read over the excuse that my teacher had written down for me.

"Why does it say I should make sure you're okay if you're fine?" She asked me, a small smile twitching at the corners of her lips.

I shrugged, not looking up, wincing when another jolt of pain suddenly shot through my wrist.

"He must have sent you here for a reason." Nurse Holliday said, her eyebrows raising slightly. I could tell that she was seeing right through me.

"I promise I'm fine." I pleaded, my eyes meeting hers. I just wanted to get out of here and forget about this day. However, she didn't listen and placed her hand on my arm. My eyes widened and my face contorted as her fingers curled around my wrist. Pain flashed up and down my arm and I hissed, taking a step backwards.

She blinked in surprise. "What's wrong?" Her gentle eyes searched mine before they looked down at my wrist again, curiously. "Let me see that."

"It's fine... It's just..."

"Just let me take a quick look." She murmured as she carefully supported my arm and peeled back the material of my hoodie. She sighed deeply, a look of concern washing over her features as she examined my wrist. I looked away, embarrassed. "It looks sprained."

You don't say.

She lowered my arm back down and tilted her head, looking at me worriedly. "When did this happen?"

I felt small. I didn't want to tell her about what happened. I didn't want her to know that everyone hated me. I felt tears well up in my eyes but I blinked them away.

"Mrs. Lopez?" She called out softly.

I stumbled over my words, trying to insert them into place as best as I could. "This... this morning."

There was a long pause and I had never felt more uncomfortable in my entire life. I knew that I should've gone to the nurse right away. I bit my lip and fought the urge to bash my head against the wall.

"Well," she finally said, her voice still holding that same gentle tone. "You really should be more concerned about your health. You can always come see me. You know that."

I nodded. "I do."

"I'm here for a reason, Santana."

"I know."

There was another long silence and I looked away again. I could feel her eyes on me, and part of my wanted to know what she was thinking but what I really wanted to do was run. Nurse Holliday spoke again, and the tone of her voice made it almost impossible for me to keep my tears at bay. "Is there something going on, Santana?"

My head snapped up. "What?"

Nurse Holliday pursed her lips, her eyes darting across my face. She tilted her head to the other side as an expression of sympathy twisted her features.

Pity, a voice in the back of my mind told me, she feels sorry for you because you're pathetic.

"Did someone do this to you?" She asked.

I flinched a little and suddenly my throat felt dry. Unwillingly, my voice came out shaky, as if I was on the verge of having a breakdown, but I couldn't compose myself no matter how hard I tried. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." I whispered.

Nurse Holliday looked skeptical but didn't ask anymore question. I hung my head in defeat and allowed her to guide me into the first-aid room, to bandage me up and take the pain away.

Except, I was sure that nothing could take the pain away.

* * *

The bell rang, indicating that it was lunch time, unfortunately a lot quicker than I had hoped it would. I hated this time of the day more than anything because it made me feel unsafe. There were no teachers keeping an eye on everyone, stopping people from bothering me. No, I was all alone and it scared me. It was almost as if the leashes had been cut to set the hungry dogs free, and I was an easy target. I always tried to pretend that I didn't care because if they knew how much they got to me, it would make it all the more interesting for them.

By now I had discovered that the best place to hide during lunch was under the bleachers by the football field. The cafeteria definitely wasn't an option because I couldn't sit there without food being thrown at me or my lunch being stolen. I had learned that sitting somewhere where the football players could actually see me wasn't an option either because they enjoyed using the side of my head as a target to bounce their ball off.

I was safe under the bleachers though because I was all alone there and when I was all alone, no one could hurt me.

I nibbled on my sandwich and stared out beyond the iron gate that surrounded the walls of the school. My heart ached as I stared off into the distance, beyond the fields. How I wished that I could be on those hills right now, where I didn't have to worry about pain, or people, or life. There it would just be me and I would be free from everything.

But an overwhelming sadness took hold of me again as my eyes moved back to the gates, a deep feeling of despair plummeting into the bottom of my stomach. I was trapped here with no hope of freedom. It wasn't fair. I didn't understand what I had done to deserve this. Maybe I just wasn't good enough.

"Santana?" A voice suddenly sounded and I recognized it instantly. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

I froze, my movements stilling. I couldn't help but cringe. Just leave me alone. My heartbeat sped up. Why won't she just leave me alone?

In a flash I scrambled to my feet, clutching my bag in one hand, my features twisting in panic. I stumbled past the worn-out couch that blocked my way, going as fast as I could. I wasn't one to exercise much but I knew I would be able to run faster than the girl if I tried hard enough.

"Santana, I just want to talk to you."

Well, I don't wanna talk to you, the voice in my head screamed. I just want to be alone without anyone bothering me! Why can't you understand that.

I began to make my way towards the school building, putting some distance between me and the girl. The only problem was that her voice kept getting louder and closer every second. She was catching up quickly and there was no chance of stopping her. Damn those long legs.

"Santana please!"

I glanced over my shoulder. "Go away!"

Her pace faltered slightly, her brow furrowing. "Why are you being like this?"

Suddenly, I stumbled over my own feet. Panic rushed through me as my whole body was thrown forward and I was spiralled to the ground. My fingers attempted to grasp any sort of hold but they were unsuccessful. I collided with the hard surface, right onto my wrist and I yelped in pain.

The girl stopped dead in her tracks at the sound, her blue eyes alight with horror. The dull thud as my body hit the floor seemed to have shocked her. She covered her mouth with her palms.

"Oh God." She whispered, forcing her legs to move in my direction. I groaned, the ground feeling cold against my cheek, and opened my eyes blearily, pain shooting up and down my wrist all over again. I clenched my teeth and tried to get up, but I couldn't move. My lungs felt as if they had collapsed and I couldn't breathe. She was by my side now. "Damn... Are you okay?"

I frowned to myself. There it was again; that genuine concern in her voice.

She sounded as if it was on the verge of tears. "I'm so sorry!" She whimpered, gently taking my grazed elbow in her hands. "Let me help you. I'm..."

"No." I shook my head, fighting back my tears. "I'm fine."

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, her tone frustrated. "Like hell you are!" She sounded angry and I flinched a little in surprise. She slipped her arm around my back to help me sit up and I didn't protest. "You're clearly in pain."

I rolled my eyes, stubbornly staring ahead.

"I've got to take you to the nurse." She said, inspecting my arm with frantic blue eyes. Her jaw quivered and she mumbled something under her breath. It was then that I really felt the pain. The numb feeling had disappeared and in its place came anguish. Burning, blinding agony seized my body and tears sprang to my eyes.

The angle made me want to vomit. It was bent so oddly that it didn't look real. Blood ran down it and into the crook of my elbow. I swallowed thickly at the sight of the snapped bone sprouting through the bruised skin, the leather cast that Nurse Holliday had given me hanging loose.

"God." The girl murmured again, unable to take her eyes away from it. "You broke it."

"Yes thanks to you!" I snapped, suddenly blinded by rage. I clenched my other hand into a fist as I slowly pushed myself to my feet.

"What are you doing?" She exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Just stay here and I'll get help."

"No."

The coldness in my voice forced her to stop. She stood there, blinking at me. Then she swallowed, her eyebrows narrowing. "What?"

"Stop following me." I hissed, wincing at the pain in my wrist. "Just leave me the hell alone."

She stared at me; only this time frustration and anger were swirling in the ocean blue shades of her eyes even behind the glasses that were now sitting slightly crooked on her nose, bringing an icy feeling to my stomach.

"I'm just trying to help you." She said softly, her fingers reaching out for my broken wrist. However, I backed away; hot tears of fury sliding down my cheeks.

"Don't you get it?" I questioned bitterly, cradling my wounded wrist to my chest. "I don't want you near me! You've only caused me trouble."

"That's not my fault!" She practically screamed, tears of her own beginning to form.

"Just stay away from me," I said grimly, whirling around and limping my way off towards the entrance. Every step caused a jolt of pain to shot up my wrist, and eventually I couldn't go any further. I had to pause, inhaling deeply through my nose before exhaling slowly through my mouth.

"Santana!" I heard her growl behind me. I didn't understand why she wouldn't just back off. I was about to tell her to leave me alone once more when she spoke again, her voice hard but also pleading, stunning me to silence. "You don't get it, do you?"

I twisted my neck to stare at her, my pained brown orbs meeting blue ones that seemed duller somehow. There almost seemed to be an angelic power rippling through the girl, giving her a glow that made my heartbeat speed up. It surrounded her and rose into her eyes, giving them a new meaning. Her chest was heaving with anger and her fists were clenched firmly at her hips.

"You really don't understand it, do you?" She asked, her voice cracking. "You think I don't get how you feel but I do."

I just stared back at her.

"I've been there, okay?" She whispered, a sudden seriousness striking her voice. "I know what it's like to be laughed at. They used to laugh at me all the time. I know what it feels like to be alone! I know how it feels when someone hurts you."

There was a long silence. My heart was pounding in my chest. I opened my mouth to speak but no words seemed right. I watched as the first tear escaped her eye and suddenly, I felt like the worst person in the world.

She took a deep breath.

"I know what it feels like to hate life."


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the reviews

* * *

It felt like an eternity had passed and we were still staring at each other.

I wanted to accept what she was saying, but I found that I just couldn't. How could I know that she was telling the truth? She might just be saying all this to make me feel better about the whole thing. But did she have a broken wrist right now? Was she bullied every day at school? Did people shove her around for no reason and make her feel invisible?

I know what it feels like to hate life, I told myself firmly. Not her. She doesn't have a clue.

"The fuck you do." I whispered spitefully, my head pounding with my increasing temper. "I never see you all by yourself. I never see people making fun of you."

"You don't know anything about me." She shouted tearfully. I sighed and looked away because she was right. I didn't even know her name. She paused, taking a moment to collect herself, and then took a step closer to me. "You don't deserve this kind of treatment, Santana. Why aren't you doing anything to stop them?"

I hesitantly met her eyes with my own. "I... I can't help it." I stammered, fumbling a bit. "I've just gotten used to it."

She shook her head, her expression hardening again. "That's wrong."

"Well, I don't care." I protested, wincing as my broken wrist tingled and throbbed. "Ever since I started school here, it's all been the same. I've accepted it so just back off and leave me alone. I don't need you."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest before bringing her pretty features into a sneer. "They can see right through you." She breathed mysteriously, staring directly into my face. "They know you're an easy target because you're so closed off. Things will never change if you refuse to let anyone in."

A flame of bitterness welled in my chest.

"Shut up!" I choked out, my bottom lip trembling. "I can't trust anyone here. Everyone just stands by and does nothing as they push me around!"

"Fight back."

"I can't!" I screamed, closing my eyes so I didn't have to look at her anymore.

"Why not?"

"Because..." I stumbled over my words, trying to think of a good enough reason as to why I couldn't fight back. My gaze ran over my slim arms and my small frame. I glimpsed at my broken arm and sighed miserably. "I'm weak."

Another uncomfortable silence followed. I had never felt so small in all of my life. This was even more humiliating than all the times I had been tormented by the bullies.

That's why they hurt me, I told myself. I can't fight back. I'm weak.

"I..." I sniffled, feeling more tears build up in my throat, causing me to croak bitterly. "I... I'm sorry, I..."

"Come on." She interrupted me walking over to me with a small, sad smile on her face. "I'll walk you to the nurse."

I didn't object. Instead, I listened to the wind, the only sound apart from the occasional sniff from the girl. Everything was silent. She hadn't said anything else from that what she had already revealed.

Perhaps she thinks she's said too much, I thought. That's what I feel like sometimes.

I smelt her strawberry scented hair again as it wafted across my nose in the wind. The warm, burning feeling in my face wouldn't disappear; no matter how calm and chilly the air was outside. I felt uncomfortable but comfortable at the same time. I didn't even know that was possible.

"Thank you." I mumbled, staring at the ground, wishing that the searing pain in my wrist would go away.

For a while, there was a dark, unbearable silence but then I heard her sigh. "No problem."

I didn't want to bring up what she had said earlier. Obviously she had her own problems that she had had to deal with in the past, and it was quite clear that she didn't want them to be brought up again. So, I kept quiet, chewing on my bottom lip.

My fingers clenched around the edge of my sleeve as another jolt of pain vibrated along the bone of my arm and struck me violently in my fingertips. I choked on a shriek, but managed to whisper through clenched teeth. "What's your name?"

She smiled weakly, still not looking at me. Her expression was filled with guilt and it made my heart sink. "I'm Brittany."

I managed to give her a small smile, even though it must have looked rather painful. I was starting to think that maybe she genuinely cared, although I couldn't figure out why. Usually if anything happened like this, people stared at my injuries and rubbed salt into my wounds. But not this time. Brittany was helping me. She understood what I was going through, or so she said. It was the first time that someone had held out their hand to me after I had fallen; giving me the chance to get back up on my feet... and smile again.

Brittany.

* * *

The musty, clogging odour of dust and spilt disinfectant filled my nostrils as I slumped against the wall of the ambulance, one arm splayed across my chest whilst my broken one was cradled in the sling that had been tied around my shoulder for support. The vehicle zoomed along the road, now and again allowing a few unwanted bumps to annoy those in the back.

This is so embarrassing, I thought, that horrible voice inside of my head: the one that was unbearable to listen to, but somehow made me think it was right.

It was embarrassing.

How had one morning at school gone so wrong? All I had wanted was a typical, normal day, just like any other. A few cuts and bruises could have possibly been forgiven, perhaps a shove down one of the corridors or a tackle into the lockers.

But yet, here I was. Riding in the back of a bouncing ambulance with my arm strapped tightly to my chest so it was almost impossible to move, with more pain vibrating through my body than that of a semester put together.

I could still remember Nurse Holliday's reaction after I had limped into her office for the second time that morning.

_"Oh Jesus." Her exclamation echoed around the white walls and they flew back at me, slapping me in my burning face. "Santana, what happened?"_

_I opened my mouth, but no words came out._

_"She had an accident." Brittany's gentle voice explained, drifting gently through the tense atmosphere. "She fell down and landed right on her arm..." She winced and gestured towards my shattered wrist._

_I closed my eyes and waited for a reaction. I wanted to sink into the ground with the worms and die._

_"It looks terrible." Nurse Holliday said and I fought the urge to groan._

_I sighed and hung my head even further. I felt a deep blush creep across my face, and a pain so sickening hit my stomach, I was sure I was going to vomit. But I didn't. Instead, I heard a few of my own words answering back, although I was sure my lips never moved. Maybe it was because I felt so numb._

_"It's broken." I whispered simply. "I think."_

_"You think?" She replied dryly, an eyebrow disappearing into her blonde hair. "Santana, it's definitely broken. I'm going to have to call the hospital."_

_"What?" Panic rose in my throat, my head snapping up._

_She stared at me for a short while, confusion playing across her face. "Yes, call the hospital. We need to get that treated right away – you can't go around all day with a broken wrist!"_

_I fumbled to get to my feet, swallowing thickly when Brittany slipped an arm around my waist to support me. "You... you don't have to call my parents, do you?"_

_"Of course I do." She replied. "They have to be informed of this and sign the forms for you–..."_

_"No!" I burst in frantically, my eyes widening. "No, please don't tell them – they can't know about this!"_

_Brittany frowned. "Santana?"_

_However, the implied opening for a response left nothing. I merely scoffed out a sigh and turned my head away from their questioning faces, an expression of irritation and desolation clouding my eyes._

"You wouldn't understand."

Yet, now, through all of the beeping and whooshing brushes of air that swept by from passing cars, I couldn't help but hate the silence present in the small backspace of the vehicle. It was almost like an irritating hum which remained in my head and seemed to grow stronger the more that I tried to take my mind away from it.

"What wouldn't I understand?" The question was asked quietly, causing me to glance up.

I stared into Brittany's face, her blonde hair flowing gently past her shoulders, her eyes searching, imploring. She tilted her head a little to one side, attempting to search for answers.

I looked away. "Nothing."

Why was she here, anyway? Why had she volunteered to come to the hospital with me? At the moment, I wasn't sure whether I wanted her to be sitting next to me, with her arm around me for support, or if I wanted her to just leave. After all, wasn't it her who had caused me to slip in the hallway? And hadn't she caused me to fall down by the bleachers?

What is her deal, anyway? I thought suspiciously, eyeing her through squinted eyes. Is she trying to kill me, or something? The way things are going with her, we'll probably hit a fucking truck or something.

"Why did you come with me?" I asked her, finally glancing back up at her again.

She rolled her eyes, shoving her glasses further up her nose. "Chill out." She teased. "Why do you think so badly of people all the time? I know they suck but you don't have to hate _everyone_."

She reminded me of a court prosecutor. Her voice was cold and calm.

I frowned a little, trying not to shudder inside. "You didn't answer the question." My chocolate eyes buried themselves into her soul, prying into her to find a response.

She smirked, shrugging. "You're not gonna stop asking until you get an answer, huh?"

I raised my eyebrows, rather sceptically.

"Fine." Se murmured, defeated. She crossed one leg over the other with a reluctant grimace. She gazed at me, her light eyes deadly serious. "If you really must know, I came here to give you some support. It was practically my fault anyway, right?"

Yes.

That's what I really wanted to say. Instead, I just shrugged in boredom.

"Besides," She continued, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "No one likes going to the hospital. It's got all of those needles... and gross smells, and bloody bodies–"

"I got it." I cut in, shooting daggers from my stare. "Thanks."

She glared at the sharpness in my tone, and at the way I seemed to be giving her the cold shoulder all of a sudden. "Yeah, well," she started again, unexpected venom dripping into her words. "Like I said, I'm just trying to help you."

"Shouldn't you tell your babysitter where you are?" I asked, sighing in annoyance when she just looked at me in confusion. "You know, the blonde guy that's always with you."

She narrowed her eyes at me. "He's not my babysitter. He's my brother, Sam. I texted him."

I rolled my eyes. I had only done it for a split second and hadn't thought that she would notice but she did.

"What?" She snarled.

Shit.

I jerked my head to stare at her fuming face and responded with a confused frown. "Hmm?"

"Oh don't deny it." She spat, crossing her arms tightly across her chest, her eyebrows sinking angrily, making me gulp. "I saw what you did. I'm not... I'm not stupid."

I shrugged again, keeping my attention on the whizzing cars that were passing by outside. "I didn't do anything." I muttered, in a quiet, distant voice.

"You fucking liar."

I flinched at the danger that twinkled on the edges of the painful accusation, cutting and slicing my skin like sharp knives. I considered brushing it off but instead I obeyed my brain and continued to gaze out of the window. "I'm not lying."

She scoffed and threw her hands up into the air dramatically. "There she goes again."

It was almost as if she was speaking to someone who wasn't there, and that hurt me a little. Of course, I was used to that – the ignorance of heartless people – but not when I was the only one with her.

"What did I do?" I questioned in a small voice, tilting my head up and trying to frown, but instead allowing it to look like an agonising scowl.

She huffed and mumbled something I couldn't hear, reminding me of a child whose ice-cream had just been stolen. I made a disgusted face at her and turned away again, my nose slightly scrunched up in place. "Right." I mumbled sarcastically.

"Why did you roll your eyes?" She blurted out, her tone icy.

"No reason."

"Liar."

A firm gleam outlined my pupils as I glowered at her. They flickered with embers. "It doesn't matter what I do or say – you're always gonna comment on it."

She scoffed, casually tossing a hand over her shoulder as if she was washing herself clean of the whole conversation. "Please. I'm not _that_ bored."

Silence followed.

However, it didn't last long. Brittany sighed exasperatedly and spun around to face me. "Look," She started, her voice softer this time. "It's just... I feel like you're angry with me, for some reason."

I shrugged, my voice flat. "I'm not angry with you." I kept my eyes focused on the wall.

"Then why won't you look at me?"

No, I thought to myself, my whole body going rigid. I can't let her look at me. She'll search my face, my eyes for answers, and I can't let her see them. I stared at my bandaged wrist again, playing with a loose shred of gauze that flapped by the edge. I didn't answer. I couldn't. What could I say that would make any sense at all? She was sitting there, waiting for a response that I couldn't give her.

Afraid of what she'll think, huh?

I groaned. That guilty voice of mine was back. The voice that spoke my true thoughts, and based itself on realism. I closed my eyes in an attempt to block it out, but it was too clever.

Damn conscience.

Talk to her. Look her in the eye, you pussy.

"No." I growled, crossing my arm over the other and slumping against the side of the ambulance, my sneakers rooting themselves into the floor.

She's just a girl, no need to be so fucking afraid. Just talk to her already!

"I don't want to." I grumbled back in reply, pinching my eyes tightly together, plunging my mind into complete darkness, cutting away my guilty threads. Perhaps this would teach it a lesson.

"Well, fine." Came a poisonous reply from in front of me; the words filled with frustration. "Don't look at me then – just be miserable."

Huh? I snapped my eyes open, revealing the sight of the fuming expression opposite of me, staring out of the window with her arms folded tightly across her chest.

And then I remembered what she had said.

"I didn't mean_ that_." I quickly blurted out, as if the answer had been electrocuted out of me. "I didn't mean to make you mad, I just – I..." but, as usual, whenever I tried to explain this ridiculous problem of mine, it deleted itself into nothingness.

Brittany turned towards me, alarmed by my outburst. The ambulance ran over a bump in the road and we were knocked slightly into the air for a moment. My wrist made an involuntary jerk and I grunted in pain.

"Almost there now, kids." Called the driver in a cheery voice, hearing the sharp wince escaping through my teeth. "Just a few more blocks."

"Let's fucking hope so." I muttered quietly under my breath, balancing myself in the seat again and attempting to avoid the icy beams that were coming from Brittany's glare.

Just kill me now.

* * *

"Gross." Brittany murmured, recoiling in disgust from the odour of rubber escaping from the mint green walls. "I hate these places." She moved closer to my side, scrunching up her nose.

"You get used to the smell." I said dryly. "It's just like the nurse's office at school."

We continued walking, following the nurse who was leading us to the x-ray facilities. The cold floor-tiles delivered clomping replies back to my ears, smelling of too much disinfectant. I wondered if it was strong enough to burn through my shoes. The smell burned my nostrils and I choked back a retch.

My eyes fell across the emergency wards as we passed, filled to the brim with first aid kits, morphine drips and beds of all sizes, carrying the weight of invalids from a huge range of ages. Nurses were speaking to a few, and one was attempting to comfort a young girl of around seven years old who had burst into tears.

Brittany turned away. "The smell is not the only reason why I hate these places."

"Yeah." I mumbled awkwardly. I didn't know how else I could reply to that statement. I stared down at my wrapped arm again, blood seeping through beneath the first thick layer of bandage. The pain returned again for a moment and I clenched my teeth against it with a hiss.

It's her fucking fault I'm here in the first place, I grumbled to myself. If she didn't want to come here, she should have just left me alone.

However, at that moment, a sharp jolt of panic rushed through my veins as we passed one of the Emergency facilities. A display of needles, small surgery knives and other sharp objects lay inside, glimmering faintly in the dim hallway light. My brain reacted immediately and I glanced away with a small gasp, my eyes bulging. "Shit."

"Are you okay?" Came Brittany's calm voice, poking my shoulder and blinking at the sight of my paling face. "You look like you're about to be sick."

"Oh God." My groans caught the nurse's attention and she turned suspiciously, her sharp eyes landing on me.

"Feeling alright?" She asked kindly.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. I brought my fingers up to my mouth and began to bite on my nails nervously, my breathing ragged. "Fuck fuck fuck."

I was beginning to attract attention. Some of the patients in the ward darted exhausted eyes towards me. I was walking at such a nervous, rapid pace that I almost collided into our guide.

Brittany almost slipped on the waxed floor in an effort to catch up with me. "What is with you?" She laughed softly, amused. She tossed back her long locks and touched my shoulder for encouragement. "You're only gonna need an x-ray, nothing like those things. Everything's gonna be fine."

"Don't fucking touch me!" I suddenly screamed in such a cold fury that it set the little girl off into piteous wails and howls once again. I shrugged her hand off my shoulder and stepped away from her, glaring dangerously back at her with burning eyes.

Brittany blinked. "What?"

"It's your fucking fault I'm here in the first place!" I yelled, my voice louder as it carried itself across the corridor. My rage blazed behind my eyes and bore into hers. I didn't care about her seeing it – perhaps it was about time that she did.

She needs to know about all the shit I have to put up with.

"Santana, stop it." She whispered harshly, aware of all of the eyes that were focusing on us, and all the hospital staff that was looking at us.

"I shouldn't be here!" I wailed angrily, clenching my fist at my side, filled with a fiery courage that was completely surprising. My head felt light, as if I were watching all this from a third person's point of view. This wasn't me. It couldn't be.

"You've got to have it checked out." Brittany tried to reason with me.

"But I wouldn't have to have it checked out if it weren't for you!" I spat back, moving at an even quicker pace, attempting to put as much space between the two of us as possible. "I sprained my wrist because of you and I fell because you wouldn't leave me the hell alone!"

"Stop being so childish!" Brittany barked, grabbing my shoulder and spinning me around to stare into the flames flickering in my eyes. "Don't you dare blame all of this on me!"

"Who else is there to blame?" I growled, gritting my teeth together, at that moment looking quite murderous. My hand clenched tighter, my nails slicing my palm.

A long, uncomfortable silence followed. Brittany still had my shirt gripped in her shaking fist, pulling me towards her so that our noses were almost touching. Her bright eyes moulded into the enraging dark flames of mine, causing a complete meltdown of my senses. And once again, I wondered if she could see the messages hiding there, dancing in the fire.

You don't know anything about what I've been through! Why should you care about me?

Leave me the hell alone.

I'm not worth it.

For a moment, she stood there, flabbergasted. Then, she released my shirt slowly, taking a few steps backwards, as if I was a wild animal, ready to attack. Instead of letting herself fall victim to my hell-fire eyes, that could inflict such pain when intended, her rage cooled and she shook her head.

"I wish I had never met you." I said bitterly. I could see the hurt that flashed across her face and for a moment my new-found confidence wavered. Something inside of me screamed at me to take it back but I didn't. Instead, I continued to stare into her surprised face without blinking.

Brittany face fell into an indifferent expression but when she spoke, her voice sounded reluctant, as if she didn't really mean them at all. "Me too."


	4. Chapter 4

"Mom..." I groaned, mumbling down the telephone receiver as I stood lamely in the hospital corridor, leaning against the cold wall. "No – really, it's nothing. It's just a break."

"Just a break!" My mother repeated in such a high pitch that I cringed and clenched my teeth, wondering if dogs could hear what I was hearing. "Santana! My God..."

I closed my eyes and sighed. A small root began to form inside of me, manifesting shame. She sounded so disappointed with me, like it was all my fault.

I heard my mother's cracking, deeply ridden sigh from the other end of the line. "How did it happen?" She questioned, her voice cold and stern. "What on earth were you doing to break your wrist?"

My mouth went dry. I really, really hadn't wanted to call my parents. I knew what their reactions would be, and how they would make me feel. Deep inside, right now, I felt pathetic. My mother thought of me as a clumsy child – someone who couldn't even keep their footing on tarmac.

I knew that I embarrassed my parents. Especially my father.

Dad... my heart sank.

"I...I erm," I stuttered, running my hand through my hair awkwardly. "I just fell – Mom?"

Another long breath was released. Then, "Yes?"

"Don't tell dad. Please."

"Santana, don't be ridiculous! Of course I'm going to tell your father! What do you expect me to say when you come home with your arm in a cast?"

My mind raced as I racked my brain for something to say. "I..." I began indignantly, but then everything upstairs seemed to collapse and die. My mouth opened in a round circle, but then quickly shut again as if it were a drawbridge pulled. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for the result.

"I... I don't know, mom." I whispered, hitting the back of my head against the wall as I gazed at the mint colored ceiling.

"Oh Santana." My mother breathed, that same dissatisfied tone reflecting from the words that she spoke, ever so softly. "What are we going to do with you? You never know anything, do you?"

I closed my throbbing eyelids, swallowing back my humiliation. "No mom." I choked. "You're right. I don't."

There was a long, gleaming silence of pain and harsh breath. Eventually, my mother's voice arrived again, only after being distracted by a consistent muttering in the background, a voice gruff and low.

"Who's that?" I asked quickly, not wanting to sound as desperate as I felt.

"It's your father." She answered simply.

I gulped, my body rushing cold. "D-Dad?"

"Look, honey, are you still at the hospital?" Came her reply, although this time she sounded a lot more determined for a serious response. "We can come and get you, me and your father."

My breath caught in my throat and I pounded my good fist in frustration against the side of the room, teeth gritted. "N-no, don't worry about me."

"Don't be silly – are you there alone?"

I shook my head, almost to myself, and swallowed back the urge to vomit violently. "No, I came here with Brittany. She's... she's waiting in the lobby." I trailed off towards the end, something biting inside. Secretly I wondered if she was still there.

Has she left me? Here? All alone?

I closed my eyes, a cold, shuddering feeling of self-disgust raging through my veins and bringing my whole body to a hot flush. Shit.

I hadn't realized the silence that had been present on the telephone for the last few seconds. Finally, my mother spoke up, sounding rather surprised, if not a little confused. "Brittany? Honey, who's Brittany?"

I groaned. "No one, mom. She's just a girl from school."

"Santana! You made a new friend?" I almost felt hurt at how enthusiastic she sounded. I glanced around, wondering if any of the hospital visitors were eyeing my burning face with horrid curiosity.

I can see why she's like this, though, I thought bitterly. It's not that often that I make new friends.

"Well, sort of." I mumbled softly. It wasn't exactly a lie. She had helped me after my fall and offered to accompany me to the emergency ward. However, I was pretty sure I had ruined everything.

I almost died on the spot when I thought I heard my mother giggling down the receiver. "Oh sweetheart, how lovely!" She gushed, her tone strangely high-pitched. "It's nice that you made a new friend! Perhaps you could invite her over one day?"

I pulled a face. "Huh?"

"Well, honey," She continued, sounding determined to bring her plan forth into view. "It's been awhile since you've invited anyone over to stay. You're so secretive with your friends."

A welt of dejection swelled in my chest. I cast my brown eyes to the waxed tiles, wishing I could smash my own body into a fleshy goop just by wishing it. I breathed a heavy sigh and felt my fingers loosen, the grip on the receiver weakening.

It's because I don't have any fucking friends worth bringing over, I thought miserably. But if I tell my parents that, they'll be disappointed in me. God, I hate this. I hate everything.

I frowned. I hate her for making me feel this way.

"Actually," I growled, holding the phone firmly, taking control. "She's not my friend. I-I don't even think of her that way at all." I didn't even realize that I was grinding my teeth away as I delivered my words. "Mom, she's..."

"Oh, Santana!" She cut in, sounding elated. "I-I don't believe it! You didn't tell me that you... you were crushing on her!"

I practically felt my whole world caving in at those few words. My hands shook uncontrollably, feeling myself break out in a cold sweat. I felt my lips dehydrate. Even though I embarrassed my mother, she was strangely okay with my sexuality. I mostly ignored that part of me though because I didn't want to give the people at school more reason to target me.

"No!" I screamed hoarsely, and to my own amazement, down the receiver. "I'm not!"

A few occupied seats in the waiting hall glanced up at me with ominous, annoyed eyes. Their bloodied wounds and gauze-strung slings were metaphors of anger that travelled up their bodies and nested in their faces. I tried not to stare in their direction.

A long silence followed. My mother was obviously rather taken aback by the outburst.

"Don't shout at me." She hissed icily, in a voice that she rarely used. "It's rude."

"S-sorry."

The quietness down the phone continued, and I could feel the tips of my ears burning, as if hot pokers were being pressed to them. I rested against the wall again, relieved waves passing through me as if the ice-cold titles soothed my humiliation.

My mother was silent for a long time; and then, when she finally spoke, her voice quivered a little, sounding almost as if she were to yell at me again. I also noticed that her tone was more concerned than I had expected it to be.

"Santana?" She said quietly. "You are telling me the truth, aren't you?"

I blinked. "Huh?"

"About falling... that is what happened, isn't it? For you to break your wrist?"

I could see where this was going. I swallowed down a fiery, sick feeling in my throat and closed my aching eyes. It had happened for a while now, especially since I had been attending McKinley High. I had arrived home many days with fresh wounds – cuts and bruises, black eyes and swollen cheeks. However, I had never received any broken bones from those bastards.

Not yet, is what I realized, and vaguely knew what my mother was asking me.

"I'm not lying to you, mom." I said coldly.

"Santana, I'm not accusing you of lying to me." She replied seriously.

Sure.

"I just want to know what happened to you, honey." She continued, her words taking on a more sugary sweet tone, as if she thought it would be easier for me to tell her the "truth" if it sounded as if she was on my side. But I knew what she was really trying to do: butter me up to make a "confession". She wanted to hear that my tormentors were responsible.

Doesn't she trust me not to lie to her about something like this? I thought angrily.

"Mom..." I began, beginning to feel frustrated.

"If there's something you want to tell me, something you're perhaps afraid to tell me..." She tried, speaking very slowly. "Then you know you can go right ahead. Nothing will happen to you – don't worry. I just want you to tell me the truth, sweetie."

I sighed, gripping the phone receiver, enraged. "I am telling you the truth, mom. Why won't you just believe me?"

"It's just, well, it isn't the first time that you've lied to me about something like this–"

"I'm not lying now!" I whined, wondering for a fleeting moment if I should hang up the phone and walk away – far away, right out of the hospital, and never look back for anything. "Mom, why would I lie?"

"But I never know what's happened to you, Santana – not really!" She protested, shocking me with the hysteria in her words. "You never talk to me about those... things that happen to you at school. You..." Her voice broke a little. "I don't know how to talk to you."

A low, hollow feeling swelled in my throat and I had to close my eyes, bitten horribly by the words she had just said to me . She sounded so... disappointed in me, feeling a strange, prickly warmth emitting behind my eyes. I bit his lip to avoid it trembling later on, as I knew that it would.

"Why not?" I croaked. I hated sounding upset on the phone, especially to my mother. As always, it would turn ugly – usually damaging my self-esteem and my confidence. As everything does.

"I can't." She replied, and now her voice had grown stronger – sterner. "I can't talk to you, Santana."

I squeezed my eyes shut and felt rivers of pain flowing down my cheeks. I chewed the inside of my cheek as I felt the pulsing beat of my heart behind my forehead.

Do you hate me?

"I-I gotta go." I sniffled, my fingers shaking as I held the receiver feebly – unwillingly, away from my ear, tasting the salt of my tears. "I'll talk to you later." I really wished that she couldn't hear my despondent voice cracking down the other end of the line.

"Santana, what's wrong?" She asked, in a not-too sympathetic tone. "Why are you crying?"

She doesn't care, I realized, rubbing at my damp cheeks. She doesn't care about me. She hates me because I'm weak.

"Bye." I whispered, my sorrow pouring down my face and filling my words. And with that, not wishing to listen to any more of my mother's apathetic advice and words of wisdom, I ended the call with a tiny sob.

* * *

Half an hour had passed after the soul-crushing phone call with my mother. I had escaped the hall full of wandering eyes and now occupied the waiting room, sitting dejectedly on one of the scratchy chairs with my arm in a cast and my eyes on the floor. My limb hung limply in a sling by my side.

"She hates me," I murmured to myself. I began to feel the prickles bristling behind my eyelids again. "She hates me because I'm a loser."

Of course she does, came the voice of shame once again, pulling at the strings of anger and misery in my heart. Who doesn't?

I groaned, slamming my head into my hand. I felt the urge to vomit building up inside of my throat again, and I wondered just how long Brittany was going to be in the restroom. Why do some girls take so long in there anyway?

You spend longer in there than all of them, idiot – hiding.

Glancing down at my sneakers for a short second, I noticed with annoyance that my shoelace was untied. Ashamedly, I decided that I simply must tie it up again, to avoid disasters that would most definitely happen because of it. It must have come undone when me and Brittany were arguing earlier, and I tripped over that tray of needles, I remembered, with a little shudder. Goddamn shoes, why can't they just stay together?

I leaned down as far as I could, in order to re-tie my rebellious laces. However, it wasn't long before I discovered that the task was virtually impossible. With my arm slung, and cast in plaster, I couldn't exactly use both hands. I twisted and turned in all sorts of directions, but it did no good for me. I twitched my fingers and stretched them as far as they could go, until I felt they might snap from their positions. In the end, I just gave up, leaning on my elbows in frustration, feeling useless.

Damn it.

"Here," Brittany's voice suddenly floated into my ears, sounding rather distant and quiet. "Let me help."

I stared up at her from my awkward pose, resting back against the support of the chair and shifting my arm into the comfort of my other, cradling it. Brittany had returned from the bathroom and must've noticed my problem. I glanced down at her as she knelt on the floor, grasping my laces in her slender fingers and fastening them together, tying the sneaker for me.

"Thank you." I mumbled, unsure of what to say to her. Ever since our argument in the corridor, we hadn't said a single word to one another. I couldn't help but think that she was still sore about it.

I really didn't mean to make her mad.

"No problem." She replied, unemotionally, her fingers still working. She didn't look at me.

Guilt swelled up behind my eyes and I sighed slowly, releasing it in a long, uncomfortable breath. I began to chew on the nails of my good hand, confused about what to say to her next. After all, she was helping me, despite the fact that I had constantly said to her that I didn't need her help.

Why would she do that? I wondered, ripping at the skin of my fingertips, causing them to bleed a little. Why hasn't she gone home? Anyone else would have. Anyone else would have walked straight out of that door the second I started screaming at them. In fact – most people wouldn't have even volunteered to go to the hospital with me.

"Why haven't you gone home?" I asked her quietly, and out of the blue. My voice still quivered a little from what my mother had said to me earlier.

If Brittany noticed this, she didn't acknowledge it. Shrugging, she did the finishing touches on my laces and stood up, still keeping her gaze far away from mine.

"I don't know." She mumbled. "I just haven't." Then, suddenly, her voice raised a little – mostly out of aggravation than anything else. "Why? Do you want me to go home?"

She still wasn't looking at me.

I sniffled, and directed my vision to my dirty sneakers, which were now neatly tied in all-too elegant bows. My wrist throbbed a little in its cast, and I attempted to smother the croaky squeak coming from my throat.

"Not really." I admitted, gnawing at my lip like a rabid hamster. "It's just, well, anyone else… other people… would have gone home by now."

As I muttered out those last words, I tried to connect my eyes with her blue ones, to see some kind of a reaction from her, or possibly for her to look at me for even for a second.

But she didn't.

"I'm not anyone else." She eventually whispered coldly, and that was the last thing that she said to me for a very long time. She strode sat down on the chair two chairs to the right of me and said nothing. She continued to gaze at her hands, and at some of the tortured-looking patients slumped on their woollen blankets and mattresses – some of them dead to the world.

She's still pissed at me. She can't even look at me, let alone talk to me.

Sighing wearily, I rested my pounding head against the frozen wall and stared up at the flickering strobe lights and the rotating fans spinning above me. I felt sick. Sick to my stomach; especially by the way that Brittany was treating him at the moment.

I'm lower than dirt in her eyes, I understood, brushing away a few tears with my trembling fingers. She hates me more than she did before. I doubt she ever liked me at all to begin with... and she was only trying to help me. Help. That's more than most people do for me. And I just throw it all back in her face – when she was just trying to help.

And now she hates me.

I felt the dripping salt of my tears coat my lashes and plaster themselves onto my face. I felt my shoulders shake with my horrible voice bouncing back and forth inside of my head, telling me the truth as always, although it never refreshed me, nor dissolved any kind of pain.

I hate myself too, I told myself, replying my unspoken mind as more tears sparkled on my eyelids. I wish I could do what you told me to do. I wish I could escape this world – this world where everyone hates me. I wish I could run away from myself and people like mom, and dad... and Brittany.

Silence danced on the air around the waiting lobby. Brittany still made no movement, and now, as I glanced at her, I noticed that she seemed to be locking eyes with another girl, around her age, across the room. She was convulsing and blabbering nonsense – obviously in shock – and was trying to be calmed by a group of nurses who were squeezing her hand, and mopping her sweaty forehead with a cold compress.

Then run away, loser – and set me free too.

I can't.

If you want to so badly, then do it, for God's sake!

I can't! I thought wildly, feeling my throat tighten at the unfairness and misery of the whole thing. I can't. I'm scared.

Oh, big fucking surprise there! You hate this place so much, why don't you just be strong, for once, and just run!

I sobbed quietly, cupping my wet face in the palm of my good hand. I can't! What about all of the people I'll leave behind – I'll hurt them!

So what? They've all hurt you in the past, what's your fucking problem? Why would they care if you were gone anyway? You said they all hated you and well, they do. So why the hell should you give a damn what they'll be like after you're gone?

But I'm so scared...

Just go ahead and do it, wherever you want to. You'll be free from this world. You'll be free, damnit. It's what you've always wanted. You can go somewhere where no one can hurt you, where no one hate you.

You're right...

I know. I know I'm right. Just listen to me, for once in your life. Break free. Run away. Escape from this hell-hole that you call home and just run. Far, far away, where no one can touch you. No one can hurt you, or call you names, or make you bleed. You will exchange your own misery for a lifetime of peace. You will exchange your blood for a lifetime of ecstasy.

You make it sound so wonderful...

It's your paradise, Santana. You can build new home. Where you fit in.

Where I belong...

I didn't reply back to Brittany either. For once, I listened to the echoing words of my spiteful mind and gave into them, convinced that they had a point – something that I had been ignoring from the very beginning. Brittany couldn't explain things like that to me. She would ramble on about how I should fight back and learn to be happy.

I tried that, Brittany, I thought bitterly. It didn't work.

And I suddenly understood, as I sat there in that scratchy chair and studied Brittany's sombre face, hidden behind curtains of blonde hair, I was convinced I was making the right choices... for once in my life. In my tattered mind of memories, I thought back to what had just happened not long ago:

"You never know anything, do you?"

"I can't talk to you, Santana."

"I wish I'd never met you."

"Me too."

I allowed the tears to drop onto my cheeks. I didn't have the energy to wipe them away. I didn't think that anyone would notice anyway, or that anyone would care, but I was wrong. Once again, Brittany proved me wrong.

"Santana?" Her voice no longer sounded cold. Instead, she sounded concerned and a little lost, and I wished that the ground would just swallow me already. Her leg nervously bounced up and down, as if she wanted to come closer to me but wasn't sure if I wanted her to or not. I didn't even know myself. I didn't know anything anymore. "Why are you crying? Are you in pain? Do you need me to get a nurse?"

"I'm fine." I mumbled, not meeting her eyes. "Just tired."

It was silent for a moment and then I heard her release a sigh. It wasn't a sigh of annoyance or frustration, but a sigh of understanding. I closed my eyes, scared of what she would say next. "I know it's hard but you can't give up. It'll get better."

I boiling rage exploded inside of me and I couldn't hide it no matter how hard I tried. My good hand was curled in such a tight fist that my knuckles turned white and I wanted to punch the wall. Clenching my jaw, I breathed out slowly through my nose. "You don't know anything about me so just shut up."

"No, _you _don't know anything about _me_." Brittany's voice didn't give anything away but when I hesitantly glanced in her direction, I could see the icy fury burning in her deep blue eyes. I had managed to upset her again. I seemed to be really good at that. The smooth lines of her face tightened and she lowered her tone. "Before I transferred schools…"

She snapped her jaw closed, as if to shut herself up and keep herself from saying too much. I frowned, intrigued. "What?"

Her eyes flickered away from mine and she shook her head back and forth, slumping further into her seat.

I knew that I wasn't going to get more out of her. Fuck.

* * *

An hour had passed since the last time that I had spoken to my mother. I was still feeling sore about the whole situation, but, somewhere inside of me, I was beginning to heal myself after the little session of counseling that had been happening inside of my mind.

I didn't tell Brittany what I had just told myself. No, it was for my ears only – no one else's. They just wouldn't understand, I admitted, casting my dark irises into the backs of the nurses heads, wondering how long I was actually going to be in this hospital.

No one ever understands.

I stole a fleeting glance at the digital watch that ticked inconsistently at the base of my good wrist. It was almost two in the afternoon and the faint gleam of the Ohio sunshine was beginning to dim a little, diminishing the glare of heat. However, this only made me feel worse, and somewhat dark inside.

Perhaps it was the ever-building sense of dread buried deep in my stomach. The knowing that I would have to go home and tell this to my parents made me shudder, just the mere thought of it. I didn't want to tell my mother again, and as for my father...

God knows what he'll say.

Besides, there was not much more that I could do now, except wait for my parents to come and collect me.

I can't really stay here in the hospital for the rest of my fucking life, I thought sullenly. My wrist let off a small twinge again and I hissed in pain, supporting it.

I turned my head slowly, reluctantly, and gazed at Brittany out of the corner of my vision. There she sat, tapping her flat shoe against the ceramic floor with her arms crossed over her chest. I also noticed that she was chewing on her lip, and playing with small strands of her hair; twisting it around her soft fingertips.

Wait a moment, I quickly snapped myself away and stared straight ahead, at anywhere, except at her. I'm still angry at her. Why should I feel bad? This was all her fault, after all.

Right?

I opened my mouth, about to say something, but then decided against it, especially when she gave off an aggravated sigh just at that moment. I could tell that she was getting impatient and seemed to be waiting for something.

But I know what I'm waiting for, I thought, puzzled for the first time that afternoon. Why is she still here? Is she waiting for someone too? Who is it? Why hasn't she gone home yet? She can't still be waiting for me, can she?

There were so many questions that I wanted answers to but somehow, I knew that I wouldn't get them from Brittany. For all I knew, she would just sit there for the rest of the week, without saying a single word to anyone. She would just gaze longingly out of the window with foggy eyes and chew on her nails so frequently that eventually she would have no fingers at all.

You're ridiculous, the annoying voice was back, of course this isn't her fault. You're the one who's clumsy. You're the one who tripped over your own feet like an idiot. You're the one who yelled at her when she was actually being nice to you.

She hates me.

Stop it, the voice screamed. Just apologize, you fucking coward.

I swallowed, trying to find the courage to say something. But I was tired, and miserable, and angry. I pressed my hand against my stomach, as if that would magically make the sick feeling go away. "I'm sorry." I mumbled, too afraid to look at her. My cheeks felt so warm that I was sure my skin would melt off. "For what I said."

Brittany didn't say anything and my heart plummeted, like a heavy stone that carried the weight of all the burdens in the world. I looked at her, timidly, and found blue eyes staring back at me. She pressed her lips together in a tight line and nodded at me, letting me know that she understood.

But, she didn't say anything.

Great fucking job, Santana. Great job.


	5. Chapter 5

Warning for dark themes

* * *

I could still remember the humming noise of the lights and fans overhead as my parents marched into the hospital, like a pair of World War II soldiers that had just spotted a snitch whilst on patrol. I saw the grave, demanding gleam in my father's pupils, and it made me wish to dash to the nearest cubicle and rid my body of all the sickness.

My mother made it over to me first, wishing to have a word with me whilst my father took over the enthralling task of filling in visiting forms and notes of confirmation that their daughter had just received treatment at the ward.

"Oh Santana." She sighed, sounding rather disappointed, when she spotted the sling hanging across my hunched shoulder. "Look at your arm..."

I didn't reply. Instead, I simply sat there and felt the sting of her words strike my heart. She doesn't feel sorry for me, or wants to make it all better, like other moms would, I sighed dejectedly. She just sounds ashamed of me. I lowered my head and let my eyes bore through my jeans.

"Hi mom." I murmured, my voice cracking.

"Look at this thing!" She continued, prodding the thick, plastered cast with narrowed eyebrows. "Goodness, what did you do to yourself? You're covered in scratches, all of this from falling down?"

I recognised the unsure sound in her voice and frowned inwardly. Fuck you, I growled to myself. You still don't believe me. You come all this way to get me and you still think that a couple of those dickheads beat me up. You still think that I'm lying to you.

Fuck you.

"It's just what happened." I sighed angrily, wanting my voice to appear fierce in her ears, but instead it crackled and broke. I shuddered, ashamed. I flexed the fingers that poked out of the end of my splintered wrist and flinched from the pain.

"I called your school and they told me what happened." She added, in a tight, emotionless voice. Her soft brown eyes burned into mine as she stared at me; so seriously. "As soon as you rang, I wanted..."

"You called the school?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. There I had been, informing my mother of the whole accident, and then, despite me having told her the truth, she had called the school anyway to find out what had happened!

Doesn't she believe me at all? I thought bitterly, a white-hot fury welding between my ears. Why would she call up the school? And behind my back as well!

"Well, I had to." She replied, still in that same, stone-filled voice. "Nurse Holliday told me that you said you fell. I can't believe that..." She screwed up her nose a little as she gazed at my injury. "this was because of one little fall."

I felt my whole body rush cold with anger. I stared at her with my dark eyes and shook my head slowly in disbelief. "Why don't you believe me?" I asked quietly.

"You've lied before..."

"I'm not now!"

"What's going on?" Came my father's voice, his glinting eyes attracting the ones of his family when he made his way over to the two of us, demanding an answer just by his presence.

I turned away, grinding my teeth. "Nothing, dad. Hi."

He stole a fleeting glance at my injury before glancing into my face; turned away towards the wall. "That looks nasty, kid." He concluded, his voice a reflection of my mother's, in that same cold, blank tone.

Doesn't he believe me either? I wondered, feeling very ignored. Do they just assume someone else caused this because I'm a loser? I didn't ask that. I knew that if I questioned my father about anything, it would turn ugly for my part.

Instead, I simply remained quiet, listening to the humming in my ears. This was torture. I wanted to leave, leave the eyes and questions of my parents and just go home, hide under the soft covers of my bed and just fall asleep forever.

Where the fuck is Brittany?

It suddenly dawned on me that she had vanished again, just like that. I didn't know whether to sigh in relief or to scream out loud in frustration. At least she couldn't be here and fall victim to the obvious questions my mother would ask, but still...

She could have said goodbye.

"Does it still hurt?" My mother asked quietly, trying to stare into my eyes.

I shrugged, staring at my hands. One of them had a purple bruise the size of a grape on the back of it. I couldn't remember how it had gotten there. "Not really," I replied. "Only when I move it."

"What were you doing by the bleachers anyway, kid?" Came my father's voice, cold and metallic, as always. Sometimes I would pray that just once, just once, my father would speak to me gently, in a voice that commanded welcome instead of shame.

I didn't look at him. "Eating my lunch." I mumbled.

"What?" He replied in a tone brimming with annoyance. "Speak up when you're talking to me and look at me."

I sighed. My father always persisted in doing this to me. If I didn't speak my words as if I were talking through a megaphone, I was told off for saying things 'too quietly'. I closed my eyes and repeated myself.

"I was eating my lunch, dad."

"By the bleachers?" He asked sceptically, his eyes boring into the top of my head. "Don't they have a cafeteria for that?"

"It was full." I lied.

My father nodded slowly, probably not sure whether to believe me or not. I held my breath and kept darting impatient glares at the receptionists, who were still sorting out my files and checking to see if I would be allowed to go home yet, or not.

"Well, it doesn't matter how it happened." My mother spoke, still with that doubtful voice that made me want to run out of the door. "The fact is: it happened." She shot a sideways glance at me, her lips pursed together a little. "Do you suppose staying off school might..."

"Oh for Christ's sake, Maribel." My father scoffed, rolling his dark eyes, before I had a chance to say anything. "You'd keep her off school if she cut her finger."

"She has a broken wrist." She replied icily, rummaging through her bag for something.

He folded his arms, looking at the cast strapped over my right arm from all sides, as if inspecting it. He glared at my mother who was still pulling out crumpled tissues and cough sweet wrappers from her handbag.

"You're left handed, right?" He asked quietly, staring directly into my eyes, demanding a response, obviously looking to make a point.

"Yeah." I whispered dully.

"See? I don't see the problem."

My mother sighed, finally yanking out her coral lipstick and proceeding to apply it, all the while shaking her head a little in disagreement. "You can be so cold sometimes, Carlos."

"She can't afford to miss school." He argued, his voice becoming a little harsher at that point, as if to say that the discussion was finished.

A rather uncomfortable silence ensued afterwards. My father returned to the main entrance desk again with a sigh of frustration, to demand where my return papers were. My mother became unusually engrossed in her address book, looking everywhere around the hospital room except at me.

Inside, I felt hollow and empty. A sinking feeling enveloped around my heart and pulled it under a tide of despair. For a moment there, I would have possibly had some time away from school – away from them. I could stay at home and study; perfectly safe. I would have been safe. I sighed in disappointment and tapped my sneaker on the floor.

My mother broke the silence all of a sudden, snapping her handbag shut with a click, turning to gaze at me. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask you, honey." She said cheerfully. "Where's the girl that you keep telling me about?"

I frowned. What the fuck?

I looked at her as if she was mad. "I don't keep telling you about her." I replied coldly.

"Oh, yes, you do." She contradicted with a small laugh, squeezing my shoulder, suddenly all over-proud and leaping over-the-moon. "You told me on the phone, remember? You told me how much you liked her."

"I don't like her."

I hoped that that comment would put an end to it, but it didn't. Instead, she chuckled dryly, spinning around in her seat, but throwing a sly glance at me every now and again. "Well, love, that's what I used to say about your father. Then look what happened."

I let my head fall back against the wall with a bump, casting my eyes upward. God help me. Get me out of here, now. Please, no more of this.

"Hey, Santana." Sounded Brittany's small voice, appearing from around the corner, her long hair hanging around her face. "You still here?"

Really?

I felt my eyes widening at her appearance, all possible varieties of horror slapping me in the face. My teeth clenched and I scrambled to my feet, stumbling out of the chair.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed, pulling her aside. "I thought you'd gone home!"

She sneered at me. "I was just about to say the same thing."

"Look," I sighed, glancing back at my parents, who had suddenly caught my attention. "You can't stay here. You should just go. My parents are here and I don't want them meeting you."

She sighed exasperatedly but I saw a glint of hurt flash through her blue eyes. "Why not?"

"It's complicated." I stammered, grabbing the sleeve of her sweater in my good hand and attempting to pull her away from the watchful eyes of my mother, who seemed to be intrigued by what was going on. I thought that I would die and sink into the hard floor when I heard her voice:

"Santana? Who's this?"

Great, I thought angrily, fucking brilliant. I inhaled deeply, looking back at her and shaking my head. "No one." I mumbled.

However, it did no good. My mother had leapt out of her seat and made her way over to the two of us, ignoring the creeping blush billowing across my cheeks, and peering mysteriously at Brittany who smiled pleasantly at her.

"Hello," She greeted warmly, returning the smile. "I don't think we've met. Are you friends with Santana?"

Brittany opened her mouth to respond, but then froze. She looked unsure, small, and I hated it.

"I-I... know her from school." She finally said slowly. Then, she laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm Brittany."

I felt my world crashing around. Shit.

"Oh, so you're Brittany." My mother smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Santana has told me all about you."

My face paled. "Mom!"

"Did you come with her to the hospital?" She continued, ignoring my pleas and grinning at Brittany, who looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but here.

She managed to urge her neck to move, nodding up and down. "Yeah." She said carefully. "I... I volunteered to go. I was with her when it happened, anyway. I guess... I felt responsible, in a way."

Yeah, because it was your fault, I snapped inside.

My mother's face beamed with appraisal. "Well, it was very sweet of you to come with her." She said, squeezing my arm. "But I'm sure it couldn't have been your fault, dear."

I looked away.

"Well," Brittany answered, giggling uneasily and absently twiddling with her fingers. "I just came to say goodbye to her since I guessed she might be going home soon, and all."

My mother's eyes lit up with a sparkle and she turned to me, trying not to make her enthusiasm seem obvious. "Oh, isn't that nice of her, honey?" She cooed, unable to wipe the smile from her face.

I could not answer. Instead, I nodded, keeping my eyes on the floor. I just wanted to go home! Why was my mother still standing there, humiliating me like this?

"Can we go now?" I asked in a tiny voice.

Brittany, however, heard me, and seemed to get the message. She was making things worse by standing here, and she was obviously making me feel uncomfortable. I'm sure she wanted to leave too at this point.

"I'd better be going, then." She spoke up, making her way towards the door. But before she did, she turned around, staring directly into my eyes. "Bye Santana."

She actually said goodbye? She wanted to say goodbye? To me?

She stood there for a while, staring into the deep pools of my soul, struggling to find those messages, those messages that held my inner feelings without anyone knowing.

What's happening here?

Why do I feel so strange? Why?

Could this be what friendship feels like?

Why do I feel so bad?

Perhaps because it will all be lost soon...

I watched as Brittany stepped outside, my shoulders drooping.

* * *

The car ride home could have been the same as driving through the seventh circle of Hell for me. It was bad enough having my parents coming down to the hospital and giving me grief, my mother meeting Brittany and my father being an asshole; but now I had to drive home with them as well.

I tried not to say much on the way back. After all, it wasn't difficult. My father kept his steely eyes fixed firmly on the road, whilst my mother kept babbling to no one in particular, gushing over how sweet "that Brittany girl" had been.

Why did she have to embarrass me like that? I thought wretchedly, slouching against the back seat, my eyes focused on my sneakers.

"Now, you remember what the doctor said to you, hon." Perked up my mother's cheerful voice from the front, taking a break from talking about Brittany. "You can't have that cast in the bath. You'll have to wrap it up in something."

I sighed. I usually preferred showers, but it looked like it would be too much of a risk. "Yeah."

"The nurse also gave you some painkillers for the times when it hurts the most." She continued, as if she thought that someone could be listening to her. "Don't take them every day, though, will you?"

"No, mom." I murmured flatly, shaking my head and gazing out of the window.

The trees whizzed past as the car trundled along. I sighed and stared out at all of the clouds, slowly gathering for dusk. The dark shadows crept across my hands and along my cast, highlighting them. I thought about the day I had had, and humiliation kept sailing higher and higher with each memory.

I just wanna get home and hide in my room forever, I thought miserably. Fuck everything. I've had enough for one day.

"I have to stop for gas on the way home." My father stated, in an emotionless voice.

"Okay, honey."

I said nothing. I simply continued to stare out of the window, wishing that the bottom of the car would open up and swallow me whole, ending this nightmare. I sighed again and let the vehicle take me away.

My mother immediately whirled to face me as my father filled the car with gas. I didn't acknowledge her; I simply stared down at my hands in my lap, trying my hardest to avoid looking at the thing on my arm.

"You're very quiet, Santana." My mother noticed, spinning in her seat and frowning.

"Sorry."

"Thinking about something?"

I sighed despairingly and closed my eyes. "Not really."

There was silence. She wants me to be thinking about _her_. I thought bitterly. What is her problem, anyway? Why can't she just drop it?

"Do you think Brittany will be at school tomorrow?"

I inhaled through clenched teeth. "Mom... I don't know–"

"Perhaps the two of you could be study-buddies." She suggested cheerfully, reaching over as far as she could, rubbing my shoulder. "That would be nice, right, sweetie?"

Every nerve in My body was screaming. I let my head fall as far back as it could on the car seat. My hands were shaking with frustration. Mom... for the love of God, shut the fuck up.

"Hmm." Was all I responded with. I closed my eyes gently, lying back.

The car door opened again and my father got in. He continued to drive the rest of the way home, mumbling under his breath about how the price for gas seemed to keep increasing every time that we came here. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, concentrating.

Perhaps if I had a little nap, it would help. It would help with the gentle throbbing in my wrist and the throbbing pain in my head from my mother. I snuggled to get comfortable and attempted to block everything else out. Before I drifted off, I realized that my mother got her wish; my thoughts wandered to Brittany and I didn't even have the energy to get mad at myself anymore.

I almost didn't want to leave the car. Somehow, I knew that once we had all arrived in the house, it would be nothing but questions. Nothing but questions about my accident, the hospital, Brittany... and just me in general. I really wanted to avoid that.

It started as soon as everyone was in the house. I had sneakily begun to head for the stairs, hopefully to escape, but it was futile.

"All right, Santana." My father said sternly, bringing me back into the living room. "Do you want to tell us anything about what happened today?"

I stared. "Like what?"

My parents exchanged glances for a moment. My mother tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, biting the side of her lip like she often did – a nervous habit. "Well, honey," she began carefully. "Did you want to tell us anything that's bothering you?"

What, you mean like you?

"What do you mean?" I frowned a little, starting to wonder if this was some kind of interrogation. My elbow gave off a sudden itch at that moment and I scratched it awkwardly.

My father sighed to warily and stood up, drawing the curtains together as if to block out any curious eyes that were wandering outside; to protect us. The blurring peach glow of the lampshades illuminated the room, casting his face in sunset.

"Kid," He started slowly, staring directly into my eyes. "If we find out that this is a lie –"

"What's a lie?"

"About what happened to you at school today, dear." Broke in my mother, in a softer tone. It almost seemed as if she knew that my father would say the wrong thing. He always seemed to.

I sighed, lowering my eyes. "Do I have to say it again, mom?" I asked, in a tired voice. "Yes. Yes, it's the truth. I fell by the bleachers, I broke my wrist, and I went to the hospital."

She sighed, as if she wanted to believe me but didn't. She knew that I had been bullied throughout school for a very long time, and despite the fact that my father never seemed to want to talk about it, she was always worried when I got on the bus to school every morning; wondering if I was going to return home with fresh bruises, or cuts, or...

...broken bones.

Yet she did nothing.

"Okay." She said finally, after hesitating.

I saw the flickering glaze of insincerity in her eyes and I turned away, placing my hand on the banister rail. "I'm gonna go upstairs." I said quietly, already halfway up the staircase. "I'm a little tired."

There was no reply. I heard the clomping of my sneakers against the floor as I pulled myself onto the landing and stood in front of my bedroom door; shoulders slumping. I felt as if my whole body was being dragged down by weights. My head was spinning wildly.

"Shit." I muttered, resting my forehead against the door for a moment. I scowled, turning the knob and hurrying inside. My legs gave out under me immediately and I collapsed onto my bed, careful not to land on my injured arm.

The scent of un-made bed sheets and the heat of my lava lamp seemed to relax me for the moment. My head swam with everything that had happened today, and was awkwardly joined by the fact that I would have to face school again tomorrow; my body even more flawed than before.

"Fuck her." I growled bitterly, and closed my eyes, trying to think of something else.

My temples pounded together in time with the rhythmic beating of my wrist, the blood flowing viciously around the areas that hurt me the most. Typical. I groaned and sat up, snuggling myself into the pillows and gazing at all of the pictures on my wall, trying to distract myself.

"What a loser..."

I sighed and rolled over onto my side, trying to ignore the painful words that had been thrown at me earlier that day. They just kept ringing in my head over and over again. I wished that I could take a vice to my brain and squeeze all of the humiliation out. I shivered and felt a hot burning feeling behind my eyes. No... I turned my face into my pillow, forcing the tears to stop coming. I didn't want to cry. Not because of them.

If only someone could see me, I thought, with a roll of my eyes. I'm just invisible to them... and they seem so happy. I stared at my lava lamp again, the green liquid bubbling inside, matching how my stomach felt.

I wonder what it feels like to be that happy.

Sometimes, late at night, I would lie awake in my bed; covers wrapped around myself in my own little cocoon, as if I were attempting to transform into a better version of myself. It was at these times that I wondered what was wrong with me. Why did everyone hate me so much?

I collapsed back onto my bed, burying my face in the pillow and moaning. How did things get like this? Why did my life have to turn out the way that it had? How I wished sometimes that I could just have an ideal student life, with good friends, parents that understood me and where others actually noticed me. The only upside were my good grades, but for some reason this only attracted torment by others.

"They're just jealous." My mother said a million times a month.

What's there to be jealous about?I asked myself sadly, thumping my pillow.

At that moment, there was a loud knocking on my door. I lifted my eyes out of the down and rested my chin on it, listening.

"Yeah?" I said quietly.

"Santana?" came my mother's voice. "I'm going to make some dinner. Do you want anything?"

My mouth felt dry with disgust at even the thought of eating anything right now. I wouldn't be able to hold it down, I knew. My arm gave off an involuntary throb at that point, as if it were agreeing with me.

"N-no... it's okay, mom." I replied, muffled by the bedcovers. "I'm not very hungry."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

A hesitant pause. Oh... all right, honey. If you change your mind, just say so. I'll save you something just in case."

I cringed at how worried that she sounded. She had been this way since we had left the hospital – unless she wasn't cooing non-stop to me about Brittany. I had simply sat in the back of the car, grinding my teeth together in frustration and fighting the urge to throw something. Now... now, she was still concerned.

I just want to be left alone, I told myself, hearing my mother's footsteps descend down the stairs. All by myself. It's all that I'll ever be. By myself... for the rest of my life. At least that way, I won't get hurt.

* * *

Hours later, I frustratingly made a start on some of my homework, practising writing with only one good arm. Sleeping hadn't helped at all. I just couldn't find a comfortable position to lie in without my wrist screaming in pain. My eyelids drooped as I wrote clumsily, and I forced my mind to think of other things – especially not about how tomorrow was going to be at school.

If I see Brittany again, it will be too soon, I thought grumpily, slamming my science book shut and plopping it on the floor; unable to concentrate any further. I might crack my skull next time I bump into her.

I looked at my alarm on the side. It read twenty-six minutes past one in the morning. Christ, I thought, groaning from tiredness. I really should get some sleep. So, sighing in defeat, I picked myself up and sat on the bed, starting to undress.

However, I had barely touched the bottom of my shirt before I heard my father's raised voice coming from downstairs. It sounded as if he was arguing – arguing with my mother. I frowned, standing up from my bed and letting my shirt drop, listening intently.

He sounds really pissed about something...

Getting to my feet, I quietly opened the door and strained to eavesdrop on what they were saying – or shouting – about. I guessed that they thought that I might be fast asleep now, and dead to the world.

Even dead people could hear this, I thought, chewing on my lip. I had managed to make it to the end of the landing before I finally got within earshot:

"Why do you always have to make it so hard for me, Carlos? I always try–"

"You butter her up, is what you do." I heard my father growl, in his firm, steely tone. "You're not strict enough with her."

"Are you saying I'm soft, now?" My mother asked incredulously.

"I'm just saying we need to push her in the right direction. She can't seem to do it for herself!"

"What do you mean?" My mother's voice was softer now; curious and questioning.

"All the bullying, broken bones – shutting herself away in her room for hours on end..." I could almost picture him counting them off on his fingers. "It's not normal for a kid her age! She should be going out with friends, to parties – or whatever kids her age do! No wonder she's bullied all the time. She doesn't know how to be with people!"

The words stung me inside. I sighed and slumped against the banister pole, staring up at the ceiling and trying to push down the feeling of uselessness inside my chest. Even dad can't stand the person I am...

"What about Brittany?" My mother brought up, always trying to defend me. "She met that girl – isn't that something?"

I bashed my head against the railing. Not Brittany again... For fuck's sake, mom, give it a rest.

"It's hardly a friendship." My father said, rolling his eyes. "Didn't you hear her in the car? It's like she doesn't want anything to do with her. Or, maybe it's because it's the other way around."

"Carlos..."

"Well, let's face it, Maribel. Our daughter doesn't really have a way with the ladies, does she? Think we'll get any grandchildren?"

I had heard enough. I couldn't sit there listening anymore. It was just too painful to hear my parents talking about me like this. Not my parents... who were supposed to love me and support me, and accept the person inside of me. They were supposed to care...

They're right, though, the nasty words sounded, echoing through my ears. Who the hell would want your kids?

I sighed, blinking tears out of my eyes, and returned back to my bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind me, so my parents wouldn't know that I had been listening to them. It closed with a tiny click, and then, for some reason, that sound caused tears to flood from my eyes and down my cheeks.

I was so sick and tired of this; of not living up to my parent's expectations. I was so exhausted at hearing their complaints and dissatisfactions... why couldn't they just let me get on with my life instead of comparing me to other people?

I rested my back against the door and allowed my legs to give way, so I slid down it. I'm a waste of their space... I thought bitterly, bowing my head and holding my hair in my trembling hand. They don't want me... they hate me... they hate the person I am...

So do I.

I growled, almost an angry scream. I scrambled to my feet and threw myself on the bed, burying my face in the pillow and yelling into it: "Go away!"

That's your fucking answer for everything – go away! It's never gonna fucking go away!

I sighed miserably, trying to force the tears away and hide myself away from the rest of the world. My eyes hurt when I screwed them up – so much that tiny specks of blue danced in front of my nose. "I hate them," I grumbled, slamming my good fist against the mattress. "I hate both of them!"

Then do something about it!

What the fuck can I do?

Run. Away!

I opened my eyes, hearing the familiar words that had been saying the same shit to me for so long now. I rolled them around in my head, remembering my thoughts in the hospital lobby.

Running away... being free... being free from them...

In my misery, I squatted up into a sitting position and plunged through my book bag, searching for something amidst the desperation. This would show them! They'll be fucking sorry they said that about me... don't they care? Why would they say that about their own daughter, why?

Pain drove me to finally scramble through the side pocket of my bag, pulling out a pencil sharpener. I stared at it for a while in discovery, then kicked the bag aside and sat down on the bed, prying the screw out of the utensil. It was a little difficult with one hand, and I almost dropped it a few times – as my fingers were trembling – but I finally took it apart and held the small razorblade in my hand.

And did nothing.

I just sat there for God knows how long; just staring at it. All of my angered misery had dissolved a little, and now there was nothing else but self-pity. I felt more tears warming up but I held them back. I stared at the razor in my hand and watched how the lava-lamps golden light reflected from it in the dim.

They were right... I thought sadly, my shoulders sagging. I'm not normal. I'm not like a normal kid. I disappoint them. They're ashamed of the way I am.

I saw a tiny glimpse of my eyes reflecting in the metal, bouncing back at me and freezing my organs inside. I saw my own pain, there, hiding inside my mind. It was too complicated to think about, and I tried to push it away, but:

They hate me...

If they could change me, they would...

Change me into the daughter they never had... The one they want...

They won't even notice that I'm gone...

They'll find me here...

I tore my eyes away and stared at the window. Passing cars with glaring headlights zoomed past the closed curtain. I sighed heavily and tried to take my mind off of the fact that I had a sharp razor in my hand.

What are you waiting for? You've got it – use it!

I... I can't...

I shot a sideways glance at it, and then held it between my forefinger and thumb. I stared at it stupidly, as if I didn't know what I was supposed to do with it.

Do it.

I bit my lower lip, placing the tip of the blade against the skin of my arm. I didn't want to go straight for anything serious: after all, I was still unsure about this whole idea. But I have to take some of the pain away... I thought. I've heard of other people doing this... maybe it works...

I clenched my teeth and turned my head away. I wasn't sure how deep I was supposed to drag it. How did I know if it would be enough to help? My fingers were shaking and I had to grip the blade tighter to stop it from falling. What if I didn't do it right? The tips of my fingers were turning white...

For fuck's sake, you coward! DO IT!

I did it.


	6. Chapter 6

"Fuck!" I hissed, dropping the blade onto the bed and clutching my arm with a tissue, gnawing my lip and wincing in pain as I collapsed into the covers. It really hurt. How was this supposed to help? It just felt as if I had made things worse.

I groaned as I pulled back the tissue from the wound, the paper sticking a little before I managed to pry it off. Staring at it, it seemed to take a while to realise that this substance had just leaked out of my own body.

"Ugh." I moaned in disgust, finding it hard to flex the weak muscles in my fingertips. My forearm throbbed and I could imagine the veins pumping more fresh blood inside them. I felt sick. The whole idea of what I had just done made me feel sick. The pain from that blade hadn't helped at all. Not one little bit.

I chewed my lip and drew my knees in close, looking like a shivering fetus buried in the duvet. How had it not made things better? I had read about stuff like this in magazines all the time – all these teenagers – they all claimed that harming yourself made you feel better, and that it distracted you from emotional pain by replacing it with this.

Why the fuck didn't it work?

And the worst part about it was that I still felt terrible. I still felt the bite of my father's words, not two minutes ago, and now, to top it all off, my skin had been torn apart by a blade.

Seriously, I thought, still clutching my arm. What the hell went through my head to make me think that this would work? Did I really get driven this far?

I must've fallen asleep as some point because next thing I knew I was startled by a knock on the door. My eyes darted to it immediately and I rushed to grab my jacket, which was slung over my chair.

"Santana, honey." Called my mother through the door. "I made breakfast. Are you coming downstairs?"

How was it morning already?

I swallowed the bile in my throat and tugged on my jacket, being careful to conceal the wound beneath it. I forgot to put a bandage on it. I would have to do it later. I made sure to hide my cast as well. I still couldn't bear to look at it.

"Santana?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want anything?"

"Um..." I hesitated, clearing my throat a little and trying to slow down the rapid beating of my heart. It was then that I realized I was still trembling. I folded my arms, wanting my voice to sound as casual as I imagined. "Um... yeah, sure."

Was I even hungry? I didn't feel it. There was a sort of rotten, empty feeling at the bottom of my stomach, but I was sure it wasn't hunger. I closed my eyes, feeling a cold rush sweep over me, as if someone had just thrown a bucket of icy water over the top of my head.

"Oh, are you feeling better?" The relief in her voice made me cringe with guilt.

"Y-yeah, a little... I think..."

I could almost picture her smiling on the other side of the door. "That's good. I made you an omelette. I bet you're starving."

I felt my stomach churn. I knew that just by looking at it, it would make me want to turn on my heel and throw up everything inside of me into the nearest toilet. Starving? Even the mere thought of shoving something down my throat made me feel queasy.

"Sure, mom, it sounds great."

I wanted to kick myself at how shaky my voice was coming out. It sounded as if I had been lying on a vibrating bed the entire night. I hoped that my mother couldn't make this out from where she was standing, but it was likely that she had disappeared into the kitchen again by now, anyway.

I can't let them find out what I've done, I told myself frantically, pulling back my sleeve with a grimace for another look. I know what they're like... they'll send me to see some shrink or something – that's their answer for everything these days. They think it will be some fucking mental problem.

I guess they need some excuse, came the bitter words.

"Fuck you." I mumbled, this time, cursing my own self. Deep inside, I was angry. I was angry at myself for letting myself go so far as to hurt myself over this. I thought that it would have made me feel better, but it just made me feel even more horrible than before.

I can't do anything right.

Sighing, I opened the door and trudged down the stairs, my eyes refusing to look up at anyone and anything. I just wanted to sink through the floor and die.

I knew that breakfast would be even worse. I was already be able to hear my father's thoughts wafting over to me from the other end of the table, and if they were guaranteed to be anything like they were earlier, then the chances of getting "food poisoning" would be pretty high.

* * *

I had barely spoken all through breakfast. Most of the communication between my family had been rather one-sided anyway (and some part of me knew that my parents were expecting that to begin with). However, I had managed to swallow half of the sloppy omelette, while the rest of it floated on the plate after a continuation of stabs with my fork.

I guess it's something, I thought bitterly, scraping the rest into the bin and turning towards the stairs, traipsing back up to my room with my feet scuffing the carpet.

Luckily, my parents hadn't asked about (or possibly noticed) the fact that I was wearing my jacket at the table. All throughout the meal I had been expectedly waiting for the comment about getting it covered in food, but it had never once come into play.

"You look a little pale, Santana." My mother had brought up at one point, wanting to break the silence. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

"Uh huh." I had lied, playing with my food. The omelette now looked like how I felt inside – all churned up and gross.

"You sure?"

"Uh huh."

That was it, as far as conversation went. I had never felt so dull and unimportant all at once during a meal. My parents never mentioned anything about my broken wrist and my mother actually didn't even mention the name "Brittany".

The whole thing had felt like one big funeral reception and I just wanted to scuttle away into my room and hide there, at least until I had to leave for school. I had finished my science homework at least.

At last, I escaped to my room with the excuse that I had to get freshened up. I had to, really. I looked as horrible as I felt. I avoided looking into the mirror as I brushed my teeth and I tied to my hair into a messy ponytail, not having the energy to do anything else with it. Then I flopped onto my bed, the pillows cradling my shattered wrist and I stared glumly at my clock, which glowed neon green in the dim light. I had managed to change my clothes but as a result I felt exhausted. Or maybe that had something to do with the lack of sleep.

Idiot.

I stared at my digital watch on the side. I was going to be shattered today.

I flung my face into the pillows and groaned as my arm gave another twinge of pain. I cursed my mother for making me take those painkillers after breakfast. Somehow, they seemed to affect my arm all the more.

And to top everything off, Quinn, one of the most popular girls at school, wanted to meet up today so that I could help her with her homework. And by that she meant make me do it for her. I didn't want her nagging at me if I was too tired to concentrate. That was the last thing I needed.

I had barely managed to close my eyes when a loud ringing suddenly jolted me out of bed. It took me a while to realize that my phone was ringing on my desk.

Huh? I thought groggily, staggering to my feet and snatching it to my ear with a small yawn. Who could be calling me this early?

"Hello?" I croaked.

"Santana?" A soft voice sounded down the line.

"Who is this?" I answered quietly, confused.

"It's me." Came the voice, giggling with amusement at how tired I sounded. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

I could have boiled over with rage. I gripped my phone tightly in my good hand and snapped: "Brittany? Why are you calling me?"

"I just had to see if you were okay." She replied, a little sheepishly. "You looked a bit sick before you left... and... I don't know, you just looked..."

"Just looked what?"

"N-nothing. Forget it... I just thought you didn't look so good, that's all..."

I blinked. "Well, I'm fine."

I heard her sigh gently. I couldn't tell if it was from relief, or that she was still not persuaded by what I had just said. "I just... I wanted to call your last night but… I didn't... I-I thought that there was something on your mind... and... well, that you might do something..."

Do something? I stopped breathing for a second, as the words floated around in my head like a runaway balloon. Do something? How... how did she know that I was thinking those things? How could she tell?

Picking up my resolve, I swallowed and pressed the receiver against my ear, feeling it begin to warm up. My cut tingled and I glanced down at it. It looked a lot darker now that it was beginning to scab. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter. I'm just glad that you're okay..."

"How did you get my number?" I asked quickly, in a much harsher tone than my had intended. She sounded so nervous. It was kind of cute.

Stop it.

"I-I asked Sam if he could find out and he got it from... Quinn? I think... I'm sorry I was just worried and..."

"And you just had to call me up in the morning?" I felt a little awful for sounding so cross with her. After all, she had called me up out of anxiety and not for her own humour (as I guessed that some people might have done). Still, I was annoyed and I didn't even know why.

But, I didn't want her to have my number! I didn't want to have anything to do with her.

"Hey, I was worried..." She said, sounding a little hurt. "I'm sorry if I wasted my concern on you, or anything. I was just..."

"I don't know why you would be worried about me in the first place." I said quietly after a long pause, sighing and flopping down on my bed with my cast dangling over the side. "No one else ever is. Besides, I'm okay."

"Really?" She almost whispered. She didn't sound very convinced.

I flipped the underside of my arm with the cut on it over, secretly wondering if she could sense it was there by just talking down the phone to me. "Y-yeah. Really. I'm okay."

Am I trying to convince myself as well as Brittany?

"Okay, I'm glad." She still didn't sound convinced. I held my breath as I waited for her to speak again, fighting the urge to groan as every bone in my body seemed to ache. "Do you... Will you be at school today?"

"No I'm up this early for nothing." I told her harshly. Why was it so hard to control my anger? Because this is her fucking fault in the first place. Yet, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it wasn't really her fault at all.

"Right." Came Brittany's small voice.

I sighed, guilt taking a stab at my heart again. "Sorry. Yes I'll be there."

"O-Okay." Her voice sounded higher in pitch. She almost sounded happy, I thought, or hopeful. I frowned. "Do you want me to, uh, pick you up? I-I can give you a ride... If you want."

The way she stumbled over her words was kind of endearing and for a moment a small smile lit up my face but then I realized what she had asked me. Fucking hell. Why can't she leave me alone?

"I don't need your help."

A pause. Then, "But..."

"I gotta go." I interrupted her, ending the call before she could reply. Damn it. I angrily tossed my phone across my room, rolling my eyes when I heard it drop on the floor. As expected, it didn't make me feel better at all.

I only felt emptiness.

It's my own fault.

* * *

School had been as hellish as I had imagined it would be. Despite the heat of the day being pretty immense I wore my jacket, hoping it would help to hide the cast a little more, and, more importantly, the cut. Hiding the cast made walking down the hallways painful, as other students were in such a rush to get to class they didn't see I was injured, and smashed me into the wall numerous times.

I didn't see Brittany all morning. Secretly, I was a little disappointed. At least she wouldn't fuss over my wrist, though, or insist on walking me to my classes. It was bad enough that she had called me up in the early hours of the morning, just to see if I was "okay", but I didn't need a guide leading me around the school.

Even though I get battered in the hallway, it doesn't make me blind, I thought sadly, shuffling my sneakers along the hard floor with my eyes on the ground. It just makes me invisible.

"Whoa –" I hadn't walked very far when I collided into someone and went crashing to the ground. The hallway was practically empty, and yet I still managed to fall down! I must have really not been paying attention.

"Ow!" I groaned, as I had landed on my arm to support my fall. It throbbed with fresh pain and I winced, clutching it tightly. Tears sprang into the corners of my eyes as I sat up, feeling my whole body blush. This was just too much for me to take anymore! How much more pain would he have to endure before God gave me a break?

"Oh my God, Santana!"

I glanced up at the soft-spoken girl. Her blue eyes, hidden behind glasses, looked down at me sprawled on the floor, looking as pathetic as always. I shivered a little under her stare. She looked concerned and... sad. Somehow it made me feel as if I were nothing more than a child who had lost its way. The tears built up behind my eyes.

Shit.

"Sorry Brittany." I mumbled, attempting to rise to my feet. "I didn't see you."

"It was my fault." She said, a small smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

As always.

Jesus let it go already.

"Hey," She murmured a moment later, in a kind voice that made my whole body buzz. "Are you okay?"

I kept my eyes on the ground, looking away and nodding glumly. I sniffled and wiped the tears from my eyes, not wanting her to see me break down like this. "I'm fine."

"Let me help you up." Brittany said and a second later a hand appeared in my line of sight.

My cheeks burning, I flinched as I scrambled to my feet, my sneakers skidding a little. A faint grimace of pain passed over my features as I clung to the wall, pulling myself up and limping to my locker.

I'm so embarrassing, I thought unhappily.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Brittany asked quietly, still in that same kind tone. She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and stared intently at me, looking me up and down.

"For fuck's sake, I'm fine!" I almost yelled.

Brittany's eyes widened slightly and there it was; a flinch. I almost didn't notice it. I probably wouldn't have noticed it at all if I wasn't so familiar with it. My stomach sank.

"I'm sorry." I mumbled.

Brittany pushed her glasses further up her nose, fumbling a bit as she suddenly looked nervous.

Had I caused this?

"I wanted to ask you something." She blurted out.

I raised an eyebrow at her. "What now?"

Brittany chewed on her bottom lip, curling her hands around the straps of her backpack. She awkwardly rocked on the heels of her feet and I was almost a little amused by it. She opened and closed her mouth a few times but didn't say anything. My brow furrowed as I watched a blush spread across her cheeks.

Why in the world was she so nervous?

She's probably making fun of you, I thought angrily. I was just about to walk away when I heard her speak, shakily. "Will you eat lunch with me? Today?"

Wait, what?

My jaw dropped. "Lunch?"

Brittany nodded, squirming a little.

I looked around, expecting people to be watching us, ready to make fun of me. This had to be some kind of joke. I clenched my jaw bitterly, clutching my arm to my chest. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

I could see the movement in Brittany's throat as she swallowed thickly, her cheeks burning even redder as she glanced down at her shoes. "You don't like me. I get it."

Something in her words made me freeze inside. I tried to convince myself that I didn't care. I tried to convince myself that I could walk away right now and not feel guilty but I knew I'd be lying to myself. Why does she want to have lunch with me? I'm nothing but a loser. She must have ulterior motifs. But as her blue eyes met mine again, I saw the sincerity in them along with a sadness that made my heart ache.

I sighed deeply. "I don't dislike you."

Brittany's face lit up, ever so slightly. "Then have lunch with me. We can sit under the bleachers, if you want."

You're going to regret this.

"Fine."


End file.
